The Ace of Spades
by m81170
Summary: It started out as game, but she was my match in every way. Love crept up on lust and knocked me off my throne. Unfortunately, the stakes of my game were too high and the cost was almost more than I could bear.
1. The King of Kings

**A/N:** This story is rated M for language, adult themes, and acts of villainy. Ye be warned. A huge thank you to the three ladies who made this story possible: my angel and beta, **xescretxkeeperx**, and the genius **gkkstitch** and the marvelous **MariahajilE**, my incredibly insightful pre-readers.

_Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent._

**~.o.~**

**The Ace of Spades**

**Prologue**

Poker — it is the volatile permutation of chance and strategy. It's the one thing for which deception isn't a sin, but rather the opportunity to prove both wit and intelligence. However, the best game of poker isn't played using a deck of cards. It's played with women.

It was as if the lights dimmed around us, and there was no one in the room except me and her. Petite, pale, brunette. I liked playing games. I was about to play her. Little did I know, she would be the ultimate player.

**~.o.~**

**Chapter One—The King of Kings**

When I was seven years old, my father sat me down at our dining room table and handed me a deck of cards.

"What's the most powerful card in the deck?" he asked.

I shuffled through the cards and held up the first King I found.

"Wrong." He took the deck from my hands, found the card he was looking for, and handed me the Ace of Spades.

"A one?" I asked.

"It's not a one," my father scoffed. "It's an Ace. The Ace of Spades is better than any card in the deck."

I didn't care what my father said; a King was high for me.

"You don't believe me?" he asked at my disbelieving frown. "Would you believe me if I told you that in World War II, soldiers painted 'Spade' onto their helmets because the Ace was the highest card and said to be good luck?" I shook my head.

"Listen, son, you know I'm the King of this house, right?" my father asked. I nodded — he made very well sure we all knew he was King. "Well, there may come a time very soon where you'll need to step up and be the Ace. You'll need to be better than your old man was at taking care of your mom and brother. You understand?" he asked.

I nodded, even though I didn't. King was higher than Ace — I was sure of it.

The next day my father left. We never saw him again. His deck of cards was placed on my bedside table as some sort of sick reminder.

My Mother said it was Daddy-issues, but I became obsessed with that deck of cards. I searched it relentlessly for any hidden messages my father might have left me explaining exactly why he had to go away. I never found any. I dissected what he had told me about the Ace of Spades over and over again, imprinted it on my mind so I would never forget.

When I was thirteen, I joined the school's Card Club. I learned every game of poker known to man. I strove to perfect them, and I won tournaments with my talents.

By sixteen, I was bored. And very good-looking.

At the age of seventeen, I had invented Spade's Triad — the game of human poker. It was a way of making the sport of catching women more exciting. Beginning my senior year of high school and on through college, the game had trickled throughout the population like wildfire, first through schools, and then into nightclubs and bars. Everywhere I went, I could see men with a pocketful of playing cards. Only the spades, though — never the diamonds, hearts, or clubs (which were all useless in my game). Needless to say, I felt like God.

There were two stages to the game: The Gamble and The Opponent. The Gamble was used purely to up the ante of the game and to encourage solidarity amongst men, as the bet could only be placed with another guy. It could be a friend, an acquaintance, the stranger sitting next to you at a bar, or in this case my brother.

"How about a game of Spade's Triad?"

"That game is messed up," my brother said, not even bothering to glance up from the book he was reading. He was ridiculously moral for someone who shared my DNA and had lived with me for over twenty years. He rarely ever agreed to indulge in The Gamble stage of the game and outright refused to participate in The Opponent.

"But that's what makes it so much fun," I said, smirking. "Besides, any heartbreak she may suffer is well worth it for a night with me."

He looked up from his book with a scowl and glanced across the restaurant at the brunette I was eyeing. She was a sweet thing, perhaps a little plain, but I often found that made girls more willing to play. Seeking reassurance or self-esteem or some shit like that.

"You have serious issues. I highly doubt she'd see it that way."

I rolled my eyes. I had given up all hope of my brother being something other than a dickless wimp, but was it too much to ask for just a little pride? The loser would be a virgin into his sixties. "Whatever. Just take the bet. You pay for dinner tonight if I get her number and dinner for the next three nights if I get her into the restaurant bathroom."

It was all a pretext. We both knew he would be paying for dinner regardless of whether I came back empty-handed (which I wouldn't), but winning made me feel like less of a freeloader. I was fairly positive my need to earn my meal was the only reason he ever agreed to play.

He stared at the girl as he drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. A small smile spread across his lips, and I glanced at the girl to see that she was looking right back at me. Her eyes widened, and she immediately looked down to her own table.

I was beginning to have second thoughts on this one — she had a horrible poker face, and I wasn't interested in fucking another deuce.

The best part of Spade's Triad was the second stage, The Opponent. That's where the real game happened. It was all about the wit and repartee of the opponent. The better she played her hand and the greater challenge she posed to the player, the harder he'd make her come when he fucked her.

After he was finished, he'd leave her a card, always spade, indicating at what level she'd played. Deuce was low, Queen was high. We were the kings of this game, so that card remained for only us. Aces were never used because Aces were supposedly better than Kings, and no one was better than me.

Deuces were the worst, girls who were too easy for their own good and would jump on any guy's dick without a moment's thought. They deserved a bad fuck just to snap them out of their own stupidity. Usually my opponents ranged from five to ten, though I had been lucky to land a few Jacks in my time. Still, in the seven years I'd been playing, I'd never given out a Queen. Not one girl had been my match.

"I'll take your bet," my brother answered, sticking his nose back in his book

"Yes!" I hissed, happy for a new game, a new opponent. Even if she did turn out to be a dud, it'd be worth it to show up Mr. Chastity Belt.

I downed the rest of my beer and ignored the disapproving huff from across the table. The dweeb liked to think I was an alcoholic to make himself feel better for being a lightweight.

I had just slipped out of the booth when I heard him say, "But you're going to lose."

I glanced down at him, my brow rising at the certainty of his claim. He was still relentlessly reading that damn book — _Spacetime and Geometry: An Introduction to General Relativity_ (I rolled my eyes) — but his nonchalance was disconcerting.

"What are you talking about?" I asked impatiently.

"Your usual tricks aren't going to work on that girl."

I laughed shortly. My brother knew as much about girls as I knew about multivariable calculus or whatever-the-hell he was reading in that book. Which is to say, nothing at all. It had always been that way between us. He got the grades, and I got the girls. It was our own little game.

"She's special, unique."

I peered over at the girl again. "Looks pretty ordinary to me."

"She plays with her food."

"So do a lot of people."

He smiled a little. "Every time her music hits a certain part, she picks up a chip and flicks it along with the beat before dipping it in her queso."

Sure enough, just as he said this, she picked up a chip. I sat back down in our booth and observed her. One of the first rules of poker is that you have to know your opponent. I generally found that most girls were the same, but, if this one was different, I'd need to know what I was up against.

She was here alone, which I guessed was unusual in the family-style restaurant. She had several stacks of paper spread out over her table, and she was intently focused on writing something, only pausing to do her little chip ritual to the music of her iPod.

"She's listening to the same song on repeat, I'd venture," my brother said, interrupting my thoughts. "Or she has impeccable timing. Either way, I'd say that's pretty unique."

I looked back at him with a cocked eyebrow. "It's nothing a trip to the backseat of my car can't cure," I told him before strutting over to the brunette.

The second stage was all about reading facial expressions, emotions, and anything that might help you understand your opponent and win. It wasn't always about how quickly you could get her to fuck you. What fun would that be? Sometimes it was nice to savor the game, break down her barriers slowly.

As I approached, I sized up the girl, taking in the tiny details that would work to my advantage. I could see that the stacks of paper really did overwhelm her entire booth. I was surprised to find that she chose to write on the back of used computer paper instead of the notebook abandoned at the corner of her table.

I cleared my throat to catch her attention, but she didn't respond. I was beyond curious as to what could capture her attention so thoroughly, but, when I peeked over her shoulder, I could only make out an unreadable scrawl. Frowning, I decided a more aggressive tactic was in order, and she practically jumped out of her chair when I placed my palm on her upper back.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply, popping her earphones out. I liked that she had a bit of fire in her tone.

The best way to test the skill-level of an opponent was to lay it on thick from the outset. I gave her my winning smile, the champion of all the panty-dropping moves I had in store for her this evening, and asked in my most charming voice, "Is this seat taken?"

A deuce would eagerly tell me no and invite me to sit with her. A five would hesitantly offer me a seat but mention she had a friend in the bathroom. An eight would refuse to let me sit with her and pretend she was busy doing other things.

The brunette looked across the booth to the empty seat I was pointing at. She glanced back at me, her eyes narrowing and a scowl crossing her lips, before she picked up a red sweater and dropped it down into the seat opposite her.

"Yes," she said, a smug, satisfied gleam in her eye. "Was that all?"

My smile grew impossibly wider. I'd misjudged this girl — a worthy opponent, indeed.

"You looked lonely. I thought you might like some company."

"I'm not and I don't." _Good girl_, she was going to play.

"But you're here by yourself. My name is—"

"No offence, but I don't really care what your name is. I come here to be by myself," she said, lifting her earphones to her ears.

"Your eyes are amazing. Do you know that?" I told her, catching her wrist gently in my hand. "You should never shut them, not even at night."

The girl actually cracked a smile, and, for a moment, I thought she was going to fold. I found myself a little disappointed; the game had only just begun.

"First off," she said, "I would never consider it a good sign to start a relationship with a quote from a movie about infidelity. Yes, I know that line is from _Unfaithful_. And secondly, it's rather pathetic you can't come up with your own one-liners."

She replaced her earphones and turned to her papers. To anyone else, this would seem a clear rejection. But that's what made me master of this game — I knew when to call a bluff. She obviously wanted me; otherwise, I wouldn't have caught her staring. I was a good-looking guy, confident, a real catch — what girl wouldn't want that?

This girl was a true competitor, though. She wasn't fawning over my charm like most, and I liked that. She was already an easy eight, possibly higher. Now it was time to prove why I was the best.

I looked down at her, trying to get a read on her. Her tells were all around her. She was clearly focused on college, or she wouldn't have been writing an essay in the middle of a restaurant. She came here alone, which meant either she didn't have friends or she actually did want to be alone. Her loose jeans, t-shirt, and lack of make-up made her look like the girl next door, and yet her sarcasm indicated she had a bit of bite.

My eyes darted over the table for several moments and finally caught sight of something I could use.

"What?" she snapped the second time I tapped her on the shoulder.

"Your iPod is broken."

That clearly was not what she was expecting. I couldn't help but smirk a little. "How did you know?"

"The white screen of death," I said, indicating the completely blank screen on the iPod sitting beside her. Mine had suffered a similar fate a few months prior. Fortunately, my genius brother had been able to fix it.

"Oh."

"So… I can fix it," I said, thinking of the best way I could smuggle it over to my table.

"It doesn't need to be fixed."

As hard as I tried to maintain my poker face, I couldn't keep my eyebrows from crinkling in confusion. That made no sense at all. "You like having a broken iPod? Doesn't it just play the same song on repeat?"

"Yes," she responded. I waited, but she clearly was not going to elaborate.

"That's it?" I asked in exasperation. This was supposed to be my _in_, and she wasn't folding. Most girls would have been on their knees by now. "You just listen to that same song all night, every night?"

"It's all I need," she answered shortly, and then pointed to her papers. "Can you go now? I really have to finish this."

"Just one more thing."

"What is it?"

I hesitated. What was my next move? I had never been dismissed so easily before. Hard to get was one thing, but this chick was airtight. I sighed at realizing I would have to lay my cards on the table. Either that or fold, and I never folded. "Is there any chance I'm walking away with your number tonight?"

I felt like a pussy, but to my deep surprise, she actually seemed to be considering my request. Then she said, "Yes."

The smirk reappeared on my face. This was why I was the best, the King of kings, the creator of Spades Triad. "Great, there's a lovely little Italian place on—"

"Who's that boy you were sitting with earlier?" she said, pointing to the booth where my brother sat.

"Edward?" I asked slowly. I wasn't sure what she was getting at, but it was a bit annoying that she kept cutting me off.

"Is that your friend's name? Edward?"

"He's my brother, but yeah his name is Edward."

"Edward," she repeated again, a slow smile lifting her cheeks. "I like that."

"And your point?" I snapped. Who the fuck cared about my brother?

"You can have my phone number if you give it to Edward."

"What?" I said dumbly, sure I had heard correctly but not wanting to believe those words had actually just come from her lips.

She was already tearing off a piece of scratch paper and jotting down her number. "Give this to Edward, please," she said, handing it to me.

"But my name is—"

"I already told you, I don't much care what your name is," she interrupted. "But please do give that to _Edward_," she emphasized his name. "I'll be watching to make sure you do."

I stood there dumbfounded for several minutes. She had already turned back to her writing and her one-song'd iPod, but I just couldn't move. What the hell had happened? Had I lost? No, I had gotten her number, but... _what the hell had happened_? I glanced down at the paper in my hand.

_Bella Swan  
360-555-9132  
For Edward_

Even on the paper, she had made sure to clarify that the number was not for me. Bitch.

"So, how'd it go?" Edward asked, glancing up from his book as I took my seat.

I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally, as I still wasn't sure exactly how to explain it, and moved to put her number in my pocket. Before I could do so, a flour tortilla came flying across the room and hit me in the side of the head. Edward practically choked on his drink, and I shot a glare at Bella.

I made a show of holding up the number so she could see it as I handed it over to Edward. "This is for you."

He looked bewildered and a little hesitant as he took it from me. "What is it?"

"It's her phone number."

He didn't seem capable of taking his eyes off the small piece of paper, and I tried to push down any feelings of agitation with him. It wasn't his fault that bitch was crazy. "Why did she give it to me?"

"Hell if I know," I answered shortly. I waved down our waitress for another beer and a shot of tequila, and then focused intently on my food; I didn't want to see the fuck-me eyes the two were probably making at each other by now. "And you owe me dinner," I snapped.

"But… Bella gave her number to _me_," he argued.

"And I was the one who got it, didn't I? That was the bet."

Edward shrugged and took out his wallet. I tried to console myself to the fact that I had at least won the Gamble, but Edward's happy little smile twisted my gut. I had lost. I had fucking _lost_, and we both knew it.


	2. A Shattered Queen

_Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent._

**~.o.~**

**The Ace of Spades**

**Chapter Two—A Shattered Queen**

I took another long pull from my Bacardi Coke and watched my brother's hand caress the small of her back as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. It could have been a coincidence. I was sitting in a corner under the shadow of walls and meandering people. There was no way Edward could see me. Still, he knew I was here. This was my bar, and he was parading his prize. It was revolting. It made me proud to call him my brother.

He had dressed her up, traded her casual street clothes for a sexy little black dress that showed off how spectacular her ass was. Her hair hung in loose curls down her back and her plain face had been transformed by the stroke of a make-up brush. She was fucking hot, and he knew it.

They had snagged a pair of coveted stools along the crowded bar, the perfect stage for Edward's production. When Bella excused herself and walked away, I decided to step out of the audience. I took the empty seat beside him, and the fact that he only looked mildly surprised to see me confirmed he had been deliberately flaunting his winnings.

"What the hell are you doing here with uber-bitch?" I asked.

"Didn't I mention that I'd been seeing her the last few weeks?" Edward replied, knowing full well he hadn't said a damn word. I glared at him, and he shrugged. "What can I say? She's absolutely fascinating."

I purposely relaxed my face and let my eyes wander, giving off an air of boredom. "Is she?" I asked.

I shouldn't have been so curious. She was one girl and probably a lousy fuck at that. So what if she had turned me down? There were plenty of willing opponents for me to sink my dick into. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't been able to walk away on my own terms. Or, better yet, that she had noticed my socially defective brother and chose him while I was standing right in front of her with my cock on a silver platter.

"Yes," Edward said simply.

I ignored the urge to shake a better answer out of him and motioned for the bartender to fill my drink. Edward sighed, and I wanted to punch him. For the past month, I had been able to think of nothing but Bella Fucking Swan, the nagging bitch. If I wanted a drink, I would have a fucking drink.

"She still have that stupid, one-song'd iPod?" I asked.

"Yes, but I fixed it for her."

"She didn't want it fixed," I argued, dropping my feigned disinterest.

"She wanted it fixed. I'm pretty certain she didn't want you to be the one to fix it. She wasn't very impressed by you. Of course, you know this already, judging by your last encounter," he said, enjoying his humor.

I frowned. "I am not amused."

"Yes, you are," Bella countered from behind me. I turned to see a broad smile on her face.

My lip twitched at her cantor. I supposed, if nothing else, she did have a certain wit about her.

"Hello, Bella. You're looking quite stunning tonight," I said, hoping I sounded more sarcastic than sincere.

"And you are in my seat," she responded.

"I don't see any red sweater," I quipped, referring to our last meeting.

She smiled even wider. "I see you're just as bad at taking a hint as the last time we met."

I turned back to Edward in mock-offence. "You're going to let her speak to me this way? I'm your brother! Make her stop."

He laughed. "Trust me. It's highly unlikely I'll be able to make her do anything she doesn't wish."

"She's stubborn?"

"As a mule."

"Will you two please quit talking about me like I'm not standing right here?" Bella demanded with a frown on her face. "And, J, get the hell out of my seat."

I sighed heavily, stepped away from the bar, and said, "I see you've managed to learn my name."

"I'm dating your brother. It was bound to come up in conversation," she said as I helped her onto the stool. My hand drifted south before I realized where it was going, but Bella didn't seem to notice. "Although, it does seem particularly pretentious to request a singular letter of the alphabet be devoted entirely to your name. Then again, I would expect nothing less from you."

I rolled my eyes. I was named for my father, a man I despised on levels unknown to most of humanity. Of course, I would rather not go by his name.

"So, Bella, now that you bring it up, why are you dating my loser brother?" I said, only half-joking.

"He's hardly a loser, especially if you're the basis for comparison."

I smirked at her dig. "Convince me, then. Why is my brother so much better than me?"

"For one, he's hotter."

I scoffed; we both knew that wasn't true.

"He's smart and funny. He's got a great vocabulary—"

"Vocabulary?" I interrupted in disbelief. If I didn't know my brother so well, I would bet that was a euphemism. "You like him because of his vocabulary?"

"Well, yes. Vocabulary is key. He stimulates me." Okay, even knowing my brother, that sounded dirty. "He can talk to me about anything. He makes me think and defend my point of view," she said emphatically, as if this was imperative for me to understand.

Edward was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"And," she said after a moment's thought, "he's a great kisser."

At this, I outright laughed. Edward a good kisser? As far as I knew, Edward hadn't so much as pecked a girl on the lips before he met Bella, hardcore virgin that he was.

When I came out of my hilarity, it was to find her glaring at me. "You think I'm joking?" she asked.

Before I could even think to answer, she grabbed Edward's face in an explicitly brazen move and pulled his lips to hers. At first, Edward seemed as taken aback by her forwardness as I was, but he quickly found his rhythm. It was slow and languid, and it disturbed me that I seemed incapable of looking away. This was my _brother_, and I was watching him tongue a girl like a gaping fool.

Damn… her tongue. I could totally see her tongue dart in and taste his mouth. Fuck me if my cock wasn't standing at attention watching this shit. I couldn't help it; all I could see as Edward kissed his new girlfriend were my hands, my tongue, and my body aligning with hers.

Bella pulled out of the kiss and smirked over at me. "See?" she said. I swallowed, unable to respond. She placed her hand on my shoulder and leaned in. My heart did a fucking summersault. "With that, I think I need to go to the ladies room. Excuse me, J."

There wasn't a chance in hell that I imagined Bella's body hitting mine in all the right places as she slithered off her stool. Even after her feet were firmly on the ground, Bella's ass pressed into my hard-on and lingered there for a beat longer than was completely necessary. She giggled softly and gave me a secretive smile. "You have something in your pocket."

Definitely not my imagination.

Her hips swayed seductively as she walked away, and I felt like I could slap myself for not seeing it sooner. Bella was a goddamn genius.

The night in the restaurant replayed for the millionth time inside my head, but the fog had been lifted and I could see the film for what it truly was. She had seen it all before — a man picks up a girl, fucks her, and dumps her. After a player has had his opponent, what use is she to him then? I had been under the impression that our game had ended when she sent me away, but I was mistaken.

This was the ultimate game of Spade's Triad and _Bella_ was the player, not I.

Bella hadn't been refusing to play; she had been making the most daring bluff I'd ever seen. She had pretended not to want me, dangled her number in front of my face, and then gave it to my brother — someone who couldn't possibly measure up to me, but also someone who would guarantee another meeting for us. She had found a way to keep me interested.

So deep in thought was I about my revelation that I almost missed when Edward said, "I'm sorry about that. She can be a little… _uninhibited_ when she's had a couple of drinks."

"What are you talking about?" I asked and prayed like hell he hadn't just seen his girlfriend rubbing herself all over my cock.

"The kiss," he said. "But now you can see how very fascinating she is."

"Yes, I can see that," I replied, and there was not one untrue or sarcastic word in my statement. She was a truly exquisite creature. Devious, cunning, and almost malicious to a point. My true equal, my match in every way.

When the time came for us to show our hands, I knew without a doubt she would be my Queen of Spades.

**~.o.~**

It became an obsession to watch the two of them together. It was almost stalker-like in a way.

Bella had asked Edward if she could come over to our house more often. She had claimed she wanted to get to know me better, that I was his only family and what was important to him was important to her. He had eaten that shit up like a baby with pumpkin pie, asking her to come over every day. And every day, our game would resume.

Bella could play Edward like a fiddle. To him, she was sweet and charming, the ever-attentive girlfriend. Her acting was flawless, her character never breaking. Still, she was easier to read now that I knew the game.

The first day she came to the house, she had sought me out to explain herself. "Look, J, we need to at least attempt to get along for Edward's sake. He looks up to you, heaven knows why," she quipped sarcastically, "and if I'm going to be a part of his life, it means I'm stuck with you, too."

I listened to her with a leer and a cocked eyebrow. It was a brilliantly concocted story, one that even I had found trouble in seeing through at first. But that was why she was my Queen.

"All right, I'll _play_ nice," I responded.

The double entendre of my words registered on her face, and her startled eyes soon softened with her rising smile. "That's all I ask."

Bella continued her little charade with my brother, playing our game even though she knew I was aware. I loved that about her. On more than one occasion, she had caught me watching, and I had to control my breathing as she stroked Edward's arm and whispered sweet nothings just loud enough for me to hear. She would talk to me through him, kiss me through him, make me want her through him.

"That night I met you in the restaurant," Bella had said, turning her head slightly in my direction but keeping her gaze on him, "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Poor Edward was completely oblivious to our game. The perpetual loser actually thought he'd won her, though I could hardly blame him. Bella was an excellent player. It was only when the two of us were alone that she'd let her mask fall.

"Why, Bella, you're looking quite stunning today," I greeted her. It had become our routine hello.

She frowned a little, a bizarre reaction to my compliment. But it wouldn't be Bella if I could predict her reactions. "It doesn't sound right when you say it."

"Bella, I know you take great pleasure in our little games, but must you make me work so hard at decoding your insults?" I pouted, propping myself against the counter next to her, close enough to smell the fragrance of her hair.

"My name," she clarified, looking up at me. I could see every fine detail in her perfect face. How I had ever thought her ordinary, I didn't know. "Only my friends call me Bella. It sounds weird when you say it."

"You don't consider me a friend?" I asked, pretending to be insulted.

She laughed a little and said, "Oh, you are very different from a friend."

"In what way?" I prompted, aware of the intensity in my voice and stare. The tension of our unspoken game was always heavy around us, and I found myself caring less and less about my poker face.

She smirked. "You are less than a friend in some ways, but more than a friend in others."

My breath hitched at her answer, and I felt my hands begin to tremble. _More than a friend._

She placed a gentle hand on my arm to still me and said in a breathy voice, "Either way, I think you ought to call me by my given name, Isabella."

"Isabella," I repeated quietly. It was a name fit for royalty, a name that truly represented the essence of my Queen of Spades.

Isabella had already won. She owned me completely, but she was the master of our game, and when we laid down our cards would be entirely up to her. I just had to hold on until she was ready to cash out.

By day I would watch her, haunt her, and by night, I would take myself in hand as I thought of our fun. With each stroke, I'd imagine an encounter we'd had, the way her face had looked and the way she'd spoken to me. As the pressure swelled, I would think about Isabella at home in her bed, touching herself to the thought of our game. I'd imagine that as her hips bucked in ecstasy, her thoughts were of only me.

When I was on the verge of coming, I often let my mind wander to the future. I allowed myself to think of what it would be like when our game was finally over, when I'd get to hold her in my arms and make her scream my name — when I'd finally get to bestow upon her the coveted Queen of Spades.

"_Isabella_," I whispered every time I came. The pleasure brought by Isabella, even if by my own hand, was incredible — enough to satiate my hunger for other opponents.

Every morning when I saw Isabella, she'd give me that all-knowing look as if she knew what I had done the night before. I'd smile right back at her and wink, the vision of her hand between her thighs at the forefront of my mind.

Our game was the best I'd ever played.

There was only an allusion of guilt when I thought of what would happen with my brother after the game ended. Though he had started their relationship as a dig to my ego, he did seem to be forming a genuine attachment to her.

I shrugged this aside easily, reminding myself that I'd never felt bitter when he'd shown off a particularly high score he had gotten on an exam. Grades versus Girls was what it always boiled down to with us. He certainly wouldn't begrudge me my winnings just as I had never resented his.

It wasn't until three months after our little game started that the vestiges of guilt I had been pushing back hit me full force.

I was sitting in the darkened kitchen, spying on the two of them through the cracked kitchen door as they sat watching a movie. He was laid out along the length of the couch with his head in her lap. Their fingers were tangled together on his chest, and Edward seemed far more interested in counting them than focusing on the movie.

"Are all five of them still there?" Isabella asked, glancing down at him with such a disgustingly affectionate look that my stomach turned. This was part of our game. She liked me to watch. I could sense her eyes darting to the kitchen door to search me out.

"Yes," Edward said with a little chuckle. "You must forgive me. I do love your fingers."

Isabella laughed at some joke I could not hear in his words. "Yeah, I kind of got that impression the other night."

I felt something clench tightly deep underneath my ribs — a painful mix of jealousy and shame. She couldn't actually be _doing things _with him. That was beyond fucked up, even for my Queen of Spades. Edward was a virgin. Bullshit that it was, he'd been "waiting for love." He deserved better than losing it as a casualty of our game. I didn't want a heartbroken brother on my hands when it all ended and she left him.

"Have I thanked you for that by the way?" he responded, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I think returning the favor was an excellent thank you."

By the light of the TV, I could make out the grin she wore as she stared down tenderly, almost lovingly, at my little brother. She was a good pretender.

I could hear a quiet devotion in the way Edward mumbled to her something I could not hear. It wasn't until she spoke (quite a bit louder than he) that I understood the meaning of his whispers. "I love you, too," she'd said, and just like that I realized how fucking depraved this whole situation was.

Edward was kissing her now quite passionately while, even in an admission of love, she was playing our game. I suddenly felt ill. A little harmless flirtation, some kissing, was nothing. Edward could get over that when the time came. But _love_? He would be devastated. I had to end this.

But how could I? In Spade's Triad it was always the player who ended the game, not the opponent. If the opponent ends the game, the player loses, and I did _not_ want Isabella to lose this game, afraid that along with it I might lose our future.

I looked back into the living room at Isabella and my brother, still kissing with ruthless abandon. Now that I thought about it, rationale might suggest that the longer I allowed the game to continue, the more likely Isabella would be to form an attachment to my brother. What if she ended up falling for him and decided the game wasn't worth it? What would I do then?

My conviction to end the game was growing stronger by the second. The final nail in the coffin came as I saw Isabella start to unbuckle Edward's belt. She must have thought it very amusing indeed to force me to watch her giving my brother a hand-job, but the only dick I wanted her hand on was mine.

Before I had a chance to change my mind, I marched into the living room and announced, "Isabella, I need to speak with you."

She broke away from her passionate kiss and looked at me, before glancing at Edward between her legs and saying, "Um, now's not really the best time."

"Please, Isabella. I need to speak to you _now_." I gave her one of our meaningful looks.

"Does it really need to be at this moment?" Edward growled in frustration, shooting me a deadly glare.

"Yes. In private," I said emphatically.

Isabella sighed and started disentangling herself from my brother, who appeared to want to make it as difficult as possible for her to do so. She whispered something too quiet for me to hear and pecked him once on the lips. Edward simply nodded in response and placed a soft kiss on her neck before moving so she could come with me. She knew how to play him so well, and this time I did not love the sickening twist of my gut.

I took her through the kitchen and into the backyard. It was dark outside, but it was important that Edward not hear us. He could never know of our game. She needed to let him down as gently as possible — I owed him that much.

I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my hair, trying to find the best way to approach this. "You win," I said.

She stared at me for a couple of moments with raised eyebrows before saying, "Won what?"

My heart was beating rather loudly in my chest, and I feared she could hear it from where she stood. I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my wallet. With shaky fingers, I pulled out the card I had been holding onto since my father left me my first deck of cards over fifteen years ago.

I had imagined this moment so many times, but now that it was here I couldn't remember the words I'd repeatedly fantasized saying to describe my loyalty and my admiration for my Queen of Spades.

Instead, I lamely said, "I want you to have this."

She took the card from me and examined it as I waited with baited breath for her reaction. "Um, thank you?" she said, clearly confused.

"In Spade's Triad, you give this card only to a woman of strong skill and intelligence," I tried to explain.

"Uh, thanks, J. That means a lot," she said awkwardly.

We stood there for a few uneasy seconds before something dawned on me. "You have no idea what Spade's Triad is, do you?"

"I can't say that I've ever heard of it before," she said.

I was both surprised and impressed to hear this: Surprised because she had been playing _my_ game so well without even knowing it; impressed because apparently she had come up with a game of her own.

"It's a game," I told her, excited to let her in on this part of my life. Isabella was the only person that could truly appreciate the brilliance of Spade's Triad.

"Game?" she repeated slowly.

I nodded and proceeded to explain the rules of the game to her. She listened with rapt attention, a small crinkle in her eyebrow. I loved that she found it so fascinating.

"I can't tell if you're kidding or not," she said as I explained the rating system.

I laughed and said, "The Queen of Spades is only bestowed upon a woman that is truly amazing. She is your match, the queen to your king."

"And now you're scaring me a little."

"Isabella," I said, taking a step toward her. "Never have I met your equal in strategy, skill, and wit. From the moment I realized your brilliant ploy to get me to fall for you, I knew you were my match."

Isabella stared at me for several never-ending seconds before saying in a dangerously controlled voice, "Do you think I feel something for you?"

I was surprised by her harsh tone and wondered at its cause. "Of course—"

"No," she cut me off, palm raised in a halting gesture. "Are you really so arrogant that you've managed to convince yourself the only reason I've been with your brother is to get to you?"

I remained silent, sure that she was about to laugh and tell me how clever I was for figuring out her game. When I didn't respond, her composure seemed to shatter. "You unimaginable asshole," she hissed.

"I-I don't really understand what's going on here," I whispered as my heart nearly beat out of my chest.

She snorted. "What's going on here? You just told me that you created a game solely for the purpose of getting into women's pants, believed I was playing a game to get into _your_ pants, and gave me this card because you want to fuck me!"

"No! I gave you that card because I love you!" As I spoke those words out loud, I knew they were true. They had been true since the moment she became my Queen of Spades.

She stared at me in blatant shock. "Love me? You don't even know me!"

"But I do know you!" How could I accurately describe the hundreds of hours I'd spent simply watching, entranced by her every word and move?

"You've said yourself that you believed me a liar in my affection for your brother! If you can't see how adamantly I love him, then you don't know me at all!"

It was like a stake had just been shoved into my heart. "But I—"

"How could you ever think that I could feel something for you compared to him? Edward is ten times the man you are."

I shook my head in disbelief. "It's not like that."

"It is exactly like that. You think I don't know about the bizarre contest you imagine you have with him? He gets the grades and you get the girls? It's all bullshit. Edward never gave a flying fuck that you slept around, no matter how much you bragged about it. As a matter of fact, it _disgusts_ him. And that's what makes him so much better than you. He saw me as a person, for who I am, not just a fucking number."

"I don't just see you as a number. You are so, so much more than that!"

A slightly hysterical laugh tumbled from her lips. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that I'm worth more than just a quick fuck in the restaurant bathroom?"

"But the game!" I argued back. "It's been months and months of the game! The looks! The gestures! I didn't just imagine that. I _know_ I didn't!"

"You are fucking deluded," she said.

"You said yourself that I was more than a friend!"

She looked confused for a moment, as if she were searching her brain for the source of that statement. I could tell the moment she found it because she snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you ever just listen? I said you were more than a friend in _some ways. _As in a brother who teases me relentlessly, jokes, winks, and plays, who accepts me as a part of the family — as his brother's girlfriend!"

I stood there stunned, unable to speak. A brother? Her actions could not have possibly been interpreted as that of sister to brother.

"I get it now. I guess I'm the one who's deluded to think you could ever see me as something more than a piece of ass!" she hissed.

"Don't," I growled lowly, her words hitting a nerve. "Don't debase my feelings for you like that. I love you." Though those last three words were a mere whisper, I said them with as much feeling as I could muster. I needed her to believe this one thing even if she was going to walk away from everything else.

She stared at me for a long moment before saying, "Perhaps you should know what it feels to have your feelings discounted so easily. You love me? Well, I love your brother. I have only _ever_ loved your brother. And this is what I think of your love." She held out the Queen of Spades and ripped the card in half. It felt like it was my heart she was tearing as she ripped the card into fourths and eighths. She let the pieces fall to the ground before fleeing toward the house, toward the arms of my brother.

In desperation, I reached out and grabbed her wrist to stop her. "Wait, you aren't going to tell him about this, are you?"

"Tell him? Tell Edward that the older brother he loves so fucking dearly has been imagining that his girlfriend would fuck him three ways 'til Friday? I don't think so. And I hope to God you never tell him either. For some reason, he actually looks up to you. He admires you, fucking waste of space that you are." With that, she yanked her wrist out of my hand and fled back into the house, leaving the ripped-up pieces of my heart to be carried away by the wind.


	3. The Deck's Destruction

_Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent._

**~.o.~**

**The Ace of Spades**

**Chapter Three—The Deck's Destruction**

Thick, salty tomato juice coated my throat and stifled my growl of annoyance as Edward said again, "I'm just nervous."

His incessant, almost neurotic questions and comments about losing his virginity were like a second sledgehammer pounding away on my skull, and my usual Bloody Mary was doing nothing to cure my hangover. Maybe I hadn't put enough vodka in it.

"I got that the first million times you said it," I responded sharply. "And, as I've repeated over and over and over, you're going to pretty much suck the first time. You're going to blow your load about three seconds after your dick touches her pussy. But whatever… you'll get better."

"What about her? I want to make it good for her," he said earnestly.

Resentment trickled through me as I said, "Don't worry about her. It's not as if she hasn't done it before. It's all about you tonight, little bro. You're finally becoming a fucking man."

"But she, uh, hasn't done it before," Edward said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

I didn't say anything as I let this morsel of information sink in. The woman I had thought I'd known — whom I'd worshiped — didn't exist. She wasn't a seductress. She was a fucking virgin.

"Well?" Edward prompted. "What can I do to make it good for her tonight?"

"I don't fucking know," I snapped, not particularly keen for this subject of conversation. Up until a month ago, I thought I was going to be the one fucking her. "From what I've heard, it hurts no matter what you do if it's her first time."

"From what you've heard? Don't you _know_? Haven't you ever…"

"Taken a girl's virginity? No." No girl had ever loved me enough to give me her virginity.

"But you said—"

"I lied."

Edward glared at me, then crossed his arms over his chest and said, "What the hell is your problem? You've been a complete ass-hat ever since that night and whatever happened between you and Bella."

"I've always been an ass-hat," I grumbled, opening the freezer and getting out the bottle of vodka.

"But not to me," he argued. "Not to this extent. What did I do wrong?"

"As I keep fucking telling you, you didn't do anything wrong," I said in a disinterested tone. I poured the alcohol into my glass, attempting to appear busy so we wouldn't have to have this conversation — _again_.

"Then what is it? What happened?" Edward pushed.

"Nothing happened!" I yelled.

"Bullshit. You're almost as bad a liar as Bella is."

Again, I didn't say anything. So she was a bad liar? I was only mildly surprised. I had spent the past thirty-three days since our altercation thinking of little else but the kind of person she truly was.

It had been hard trying to figure her out since her sudden departure and subsequent absence. I had to rely solely on my past observations of her, which were admittedly made through the eyes of an obsessed, perverted stalker. I had taken her and distorted her into a perverse version of who I'd wanted her to be. I had taken every innocent action, every facet of truth, and twisted it to fit my own debauched fantasy of the perfect woman.

What was worse, I did it to a girl who was truly _good_. For when I stripped away every fictitious thought I had, every fabricated truth I'd forced myself to believe, even I couldn't deny that the essence of her was divine. It was innocent, clearly virginal, and it sickened me.

It sickened me that she was so genuine. It sickened me that she was so nice and naive and fucking perfect. It sickened me that she truly loved my brother. It sickened me that she was going to let him caress her skin, suck her breasts, bury himself inside her…

The glass I held shattered as my hand clenched, drenching me in red. Growling, I grabbed a few paper towels to wipe my mess up. I could feel Edward's eyes studying me. He seemed to _finally_ get that I wasn't in the mood to talk about it and left the kitchen without another word.

As soon as I heard him slam his bedroom door, I let out a deep breath and allowed my eyes to flutter close. I was immediately assaulted with image after image of him touching her, breathing her, fucking her, and I buckled under the weight of it all. My shoulders hunched, and I shuddered with heavy breaths, willing my eyes not to water and my body not to crumble.

I didn't understand. Just months ago, I was practically begging my brother to lose his virginity. Why now was I falling apart at the mere thought of it? Why now could I not accept it?

The answer was obvious, and yet I willed myself not to think it. Because if my mind came to the conclusion my heart already had, then I would have to face it, and I knew I wasn't ready for that.

I told myself again that I was not in love with her. I had been in love with Isabella, the _fantasy_ of her. _A fantasy that did not exist and never would_. If I just kept reminding myself of that, it would become the truth.

I growled at myself in irritation. No matter how much I willed it, my heart just didn't seem to be in the mood to cooperate. I needed to do something about this. I couldn't keep living my life this way. Getting drunk every night to forget, and then passing out on the sofa, hoping to get a whiff of her scent.

I had yet to gain back any semblance of my previous life, and I hated that I was stuck being the emo asshole I had become since she left. I needed to go back to being the content, heartless asshole from before.

"How about a game of Spade's Triad?" I muttered to myself, a streak of pain embedding itself in my chest as I remembered the last time I had muttered those words.

I needed to forget. I needed to not think. I needed alcohol.

But tonight I would not pass out on the couch. Tonight I would go out and be J again, the fucking King of Spade's Triad.

I walked into the bar, content that at least everything here had stayed the same. I immediately started looking through the women. Deuce, three, five, eight — I didn't really care as long as she had a warm pussy that I could bury myself in.

I chose some faceless girl playing pool in the corner and then found a random stranger sitting at the bar with a deck of cards poking out of his pocket.

"How about a game of Spade's Triad?" As I said the words, I got a rather annoying nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that I shouldn't be doing this. I pushed it aside.

"Who's the opponent?" he asked, and I nodded toward to the girl.

"She looks a five at best, but I'll buy you a round of drinks if you nail her." I nodded and shook his hand before walking over to the girl to make my move.

She was easy, and I was happy for it because it meant I wouldn't have to bother making it any good for her when I was simply in it to forget.

I thought about taking her to the bathroom, but the moment the thought crossed my mind a voice reminded me: _You think I don't know that I'm worth more than just a quick fuck in the restaurant bathroom_? We walked to the girl's car instead.

I took the girl from behind and pretended it wasn't because I couldn't bear looking down and not seeing brown look back. As I plowed into the girl, I pretended I wasn't thinking about _her_ every second of every minute. I pretended that I wasn't thinking of the caresses my brother was giving her, the pleasure he was bringing her. I pretended to not think about how she would moan and writhe underneath him. How she would taste. What her voice would sound like when she screamed out his name.

I was climbing closer and closer to that blissful edge, and yet somehow it seemed empty. In my fucked-up state, I allowed myself to drop one charade and replace it with another. For just one moment, I allowed myself to hear what my heart had been screaming. I allowed myself to imagine that I was with the woman I loved, not some faceless stranger.

It was passion and fire and natural.

Because I loved _her_, not the twisted fantasy version of her I had created. Where Isabella was cold and calculating, Bella was warm and pure. Where Isabella manipulated, Bella trusted. I loved her not because she played my game, but because she was everything I couldn't see in myself.

"_Bella_," exited my lips in a sacred whisper as I came, and I knew that somewhere else in the city, another man was calling her name.

A man who did not need to pretend.

I pulled out of the girl, mechanically tossing the condom into an empty plastic bag I found on the floorboard of her car. I reminded myself that I wasn't emo J anymore — I was strong and confident. I was the man that other men looked up to.

I pulled out my wallet; there was one last thing I had to do before I left this Godforsaken car. I reached in to get my cards, my hands trembling for some reason I couldn't figure out. I tried to focus on what number this girl was. A deuce? A three or four? _Not a queen_.

"I'm not a prostitute. You don't need to pay me," a small voice said, and I was suddenly filled with such a profound and terrible regret that all the cards slipped from my hand onto the seat.

I felt empty, ashamed, disgusted with myself. I felt suffocated. "I have to go," I said, scrambling to get out of the car.

I had thought that once I was outside in the cold, fresh air I would feel better, but it only felt worse. I needed to run, to get away from here. I tried not to think as my feet pounded the pavement, but a pair of haunting brown eyes seemed to follow me down each street and around every corner.

It was only when I reached my house that I realized what I was running from would never go away. How could one rid himself of… himself? I hated who I was. I hated the man I had become.

"Fuck!" I screamed out to no one, falling to my knees on the soft grass outside of my house. My father had planted these lawns before he left. Ever since, I had made sure to manicure and cut and keep them alive, a desperate attempt, I now realized, to prove to him that I was a better King than he. If he ever came back, he'd know that I'd been better.

But I was done. I grabbed handfuls and handfuls of the lush green grass and ripped it out by its roots. I never wanted anything to do with that man again, and, with each handful of grass, I purged myself of my past. I promised myself I would be a better man, one that would be worthy of Bella. With one more angry tug and that thought resonating in my mind, I found myself suddenly exhausted.

I knew it would be a long road ahead of me. I would need to quit the women, quit the game, and quit the booze. I would need to be better for her than any other man.

In the meantime, though, I would pick myself up off this ruined lawn and collapse on the couch, where I would hope to catch one last whiff of the woman who had changed my heart and soul irrevocably.


	4. Losing the Pot

_Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent._

**~.o.~**

**The Ace of Spades**

**Chapter Four—Losing the Pot**

The moment I told Edward of my intentions to quit drinking, he'd happily gone through and cleansed the house of any alcoholic beverage he could find. Of course, he didn't know about the bottle of rum taped up to the underside of the sink or the mini-bottles of whiskey I still had hidden in the bag of flour in our pantry. It was my own sheer willpower that kept me from cracking those open and savoring one last drink.

In the year since I'd quit drinking, I hadn't been able to find it in myself to throw out those reminders of my past life. In some small way, it was reassuring to have them nearby… just in case.

My addictions were no longer the game, drinking, or women. Instead, my obsession became being a better man. That's what drove me forward, and though I often found myself tempted by my past, I was resilient. I was determined to live a life I could be proud of. I would never admit it out loud, but I hoped that Bella would be proud, as well.

Sometimes, though, the cravings were strong, and I desperately wished I could indulge. Tonight was one of those times.

"So, let's hear it, little bro. What's the dilemma?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a dilemma as much as a predicament," Edward started, leaning forward on the counter and fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. "It's Bella…"

I nodded. It normally was about Bella on nights when he'd seek out my advice. I was amazed this part of our relationship survived after that disastrous night he'd come to me about his virginity. I recoiled at the thought of what an asshole I'd been that night. I was his big brother; I should have done better.

Of course, I was sure even Edward wouldn't have blamed me if he'd known the reason behind my behavior. I considered it penance that I stood there and listened to him talk about the love of our lives. It was the least I could do to make up for my past behavior.

"… I proposed to her."

Though the jealousy burned, I maintained my practiced expression of indifference. A year may have been enough time to heal a lot of past regrets, but it was definitely not enough time to cure my foolish love for Bella. If anything, time magnified my feelings for her.

It had taken months for Bella to visit our house after our argument. It would be stupid to think she'd forgotten our exchange, but she seemed content in ignoring it, and we easily resumed our playful banter from before. Knowing I had somehow been given a reprieve, I was determined not to cross any lines. I maintained my outward indifference well, and, though I still had a hard time keeping my eyes off her, I kept both the joy and hurt she brought to my life a secret.

This degree of pain, however, was unimaginable and, frankly, a bit surprising. I thought I'd been prepared. It was only a matter of time, after all — Edward and Bella getting hitched had always been a sure thing.

"But she told me no," Edward said.

I openly gaped at him, and, even though I hated myself for it, my heart filled with hope. "She told you _no_?"

"She didn't like how I proposed," he mumbled, unable to meet my eyes.

He didn't seem to want to elaborate. His head was tilted down, hiding his face from me, but I could still see the blush on his cheeks. I suppressed my smile and said, "Edward, what did you do?"

Edward sighed, his shoulders slumping even more. "I, um, may have possibly taken out an advertisement on the Mariners' billboard at the baseball game we went to last week."

"You didn't!" I said in disbelief, not able to keep myself from laughing.

"Yep." Edward looked like he wanted to die.

"Of course she was going to hate that! This is Bella we're talking about, and you proposed to her in the most cliché way possible!"

"I know, I know! I don't know what I was thinking! I just wanted it to be special, but I couldn't think of anything good enough. I didn't even get to show her the ring before she turned to me and told me I'd better not even think about it."

"So, what? Did she reject you in front of all those people?"

Edward sighed again and finally looked me in the eye. "Not exactly. I wasn't brave enough to actually have the camera focused on us when the ad flashed so no one around us even knew I was the one proposing. The ad came across the screen — the generic, 'Bella, will you marry me? Love, Edward.' Don't look at me like that! I know it was stupid," he added at my incredulous expression.

"I'm sorry that's just so… _lame_."

"I know," he said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, she wasn't even paying attention, so I pointed to it and while she looked up, I reached into my pocket to get the ring. Before I could get the box open, she turned around and told me to put the case away. She told me she wanted the ring to be a surprise for when I _really_ proposed to her."

I laughed again. It was just like Bella to do something like that. It was exactly why I loved her so much. I felt my heart crack a little more at the thought. "So, I guess that means it's pretty much a sure thing, then. She wants to marry you as long as you propose in an acceptable fashion."

"Yeah, and that's the problem. The baseball ad was at the top of my list of ways to propose. It only goes downhill from there."

"What else did you come up with?"

"You know, like putting the ring into a fortune cookie or making a cake with 'Will You Marry Me?' in frosting. Will you stop looking at me like that! I know it's lame."

"I'm sorry! I can't help it that your ideas suck so hard!" I said, attempting to wrestle my features back into my look of indifference and failing miserably. It was much harder trying not to laugh than it was trying not to cry.

"Well, that's why I'm asking you," Edward snapped shortly. "You're the one who claims to know everything about the female specimen."

That wiped the smile off my face quickly. I hadn't made that claim since I'd fallen in love with Bella. What did I know about love except how to get your heart ripped into a million pieces? "I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask on that front, Edward."

He was quiet for a moment before saying, "Look, J, I know that you never particularly liked Bella, but she is going to be a part of your life as long as you're a part of mine."

I turned my back to him, unable to keep up my mask. He was right; I didn't _like_ Bella. How could any man simply _like_ a woman who was complete perfection, who encompassed everything good and wonderful and purely _right_ in humanity?

"So, please, J, just accept the fact that she is going to be a part of this family. You don't have to love her, but please _accept_ her."

Neither of us said anything for a long time. As much as I tried to convince myself that I had come to terms with the fact that Bella was going to be with my brother and not me, I knew I had never truly accepted it.

I understood why Bella had chosen Edward over me before; I had unquestionably been an asshole. But in the moments where I was being completely honest with myself, I couldn't comprehend why she was _still_ choosing him over me. As much I hated myself for it, in my heart of hearts I still believed that one day I would be with her.

She had noted my transformation on several occasions, commenting on how she couldn't believe how improved I had become in such a short period of time. Certainly it wouldn't be much longer before she considered me worthy of her affections.

And did I not deserve it? Did I not love her better than my brother? I certainly knew her better. After all, I would never be stupid enough to propose to her by billboard.

If I were to propose to Bella, it would be sweet and subtle, not some obnoxious display. I had thought about it often, the way I would slip the ring on her finger, the words I would say, and how I would make love to her after. It would be perfection.

I shook my head at my thought process. I hadn't changed at all, not really. I was still the same scheming asshole trying to steal my brother's girlfriend. I was just being much nicer about it. This was exactly why I would never deserve her.

"Her hand," I whispered barely loud enough for Edward to hear. If the only way to deserve Bella was to give Edward my perfect future, I would pay the price — even if it meant I'd never have it for myself. "Slip the ring on her finger, and write it on the palm of her hand while she's sleeping."

A slow smile tugged at his lips. "That's perfect!" he said happily, clapping me on the shoulder and turning to walk out the kitchen. "I knew you'd come up with something brilliant! I can't thank you enough!"

"Make sure you're awake when she sees it," I whispered to no one. "Her face will be glorious."

Indeed, her face was still shining when she walked through our front door a few days later.

"You're looking quite stunning today, Bella," I quipped, the same as always.

"Am I glowing?" she asked, playfully. "I always hear that women glow when they get engaged."

"As I said, stunning," I whispered, no hint of sarcasm in my tone.

I could just make out the smudged, "Will you marry me?" written in Edward's handwriting on the palm of her hand.


	5. The Ace of Spades

_Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent._

**~.o.~**

**The Ace of Spades**

**Chapter Five—The Ace of Spades**

Edward looked ridiculous. He wore a pink shirt that read, "Property of Bella Swan — No Touching," and a cone-shaped party hat that read, "The Future Mr. Swan." I would have laughed at him for wearing the preposterous outfit except I was too busy fighting off blinding jealousy. If Bella had asked me to wear it, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

I felt as though I was stuck in a backwards world. Edward was plastered, and I was completely sober. We had our reasons, of course — it was his bachelor party (a fact he felt the need to remind me of every couple of seconds), and I was a recovering alcoholic determined to never touch another drink.

For my sake, Edward hadn't wanted to go any place that served alcohol, but as his Best Man, I felt it was my duty to show him a good time even if I couldn't partake. Also, I was pleased to discover that I could be as much of an asshole as I wished, and everyone would assume it was because I wasn't drinking and not because my brother was marrying the woman I loved. That was nice.

"I'm getting married to Bella Swan," Edward sang into my ear, and our entire party rang out, "Cheers!" before downing another shot.

"I'm going to get a drink," I told Edward so I could get away from the Godforsaken merriment of it all.

"No alcohol for you," Edward reminded me with a wide smile, and I assured him I would get a coke.

I stared at the drinks menu at the bar as if it was a message directly from God. Oh, how a drink would help my night so much.

"How about a game of Spade's Triad?" a stranger asked in a low whisper from my left. I felt my face burn.

It had been over a year since anyone had dared mention that Goddamn game to me. I looked back at him in disgust. "You're a damn fool."

He looked surprised by the venom in my voice. "You don't remember me do you? I owe you a round of drinks for a game you won a while ago."

"I don't drink anymore." _I just think about it often_. "And I don't play that stupid game any more, either."

"Dude, what's your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is that I'm a miserable fucking bastard," I said.

He stared at me before saying, "I can see that," and turned to walk away. Before he could get far, I grabbed his shoulder.

"Look at that," I said, pointing to my brother. "Look at that man there. That is a man who is truly happy. Do you think that you are ever going to be as happy as him?" I asked. Damn, I wanted that. I wanted to be him. I wanted Bella.

"Well, let me inform you," I continued, ignoring his incredulous look, "that he never once played that stupid fucking game. He found something worth more than a few meaningless fucks… She could've been mine."

I left the man standing stunned at the bar and walked over to my brother. "I think it's probably time I get this bachelor home," I told our group of friends. They looked at Edward, who was now wearing his cone-shaped party hat on the side of his head, and easily agreed.

Edward said a quick goodbye to the group that nobody could understand and darted out the door. I waved and departed as well. When I got outside, it was to find Edward dancing in the street, singing, "_I'm Getting Married in the Morning_!" I couldn't help but smile. At least he was happy.

"Come on, future Mr. Swan. Let's get you home." We walked back to our house from the bar, Edward often coming up and throwing his arm around my shoulder, asking me to join in on the chorus to the song, which he kept singing quite loudly the entire way.

It took about ten minutes for us to finally reach home, and, when we did, Edward practically collapsed on the porch to look up at the stars.

"I don't deserve her," he said.

"Yes, you do," I replied automatically.

"When I'm with her, it's like Heaven meets Earth. I can't believe I'm going to get to spend the rest of my life in Heaven."

Two years ago I would have laughed. Tonight the jealousy burned like acid.

"I'm going to spend every day of forever making her happy," he told me with determination.

"I know you will," I agreed.

He was quiet for a moment, and I was just about to suggest that we go inside when he said, quite hesitantly, "I do have one fear about marrying her."

"Which is what?" I asked curiously. Edward had always seemed so sure of himself.

"I don't know if I can say it out loud."

"Edward, you know you can tell me anything," I reassured him, though I hoped to God it wasn't anything about their sex life.

He just sat there looking up at the sky for a couple minutes, giving no indication that he had heard me. "Sometimes I worry that I'll be like him. Like dad." He whispered the last two words. I couldn't blame him. The subject of our father had always been forbidden when our mother was alive, and, even after she had passed away, the subject felt taboo.

"Look at me, Edward," I said. He refused and I repeated it more forcefully. When his eyes met mine, I mustered every ounce of honesty and truth into my voice so that he would believe me when I said, "You will never, _never_ be like father."

He gave me a sad smile. "You don't know that. I could—"

"No, you couldn't," I interrupted. "Trust me."

"I trust you, J," he told me and continued to look up at the stars.

We sat like that for a long while, and my eyes had already drifted close by the time I realized that this would be a terribly uncomfortable place to sleep and decided I'd rather be in my bed. I stood up and clapped Edward on the shoulder, asking him if he was ready to sleep.

"Give me a few minutes. I'll be in soon," was his reply.

I told him I'd see him in the morning and turned to walk away. I was almost to the door when he asked, "What changed?"

I turned around to find him facing me. "What do you mean?" I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

"What changed you?" he clarified. "You're different now… better."

I didn't want to answer because I didn't want to lie to him. I knew I had to say something, though. Edward never let anything drop. "It was the alcohol. Once I quit drinking, I was cured."

"You're lying," he stated quite accurately. "I'm talking about before you quit drinking, the _reason_ you quit drinking."

I had decided a long time ago that Edward would never know about my feelings for Bella. Times like now thoroughly tested my self-control, and I wondered how bad it would really be if I got it out in the open. The burden of carrying it around was tiring.

"J, you can tell me anything," Edward said, repeating my words from earlier.

I could hear such an earnest appeal in his voice, and I gave in. "It was Bella."

He didn't seem at all surprised by this. In fact, a wide grin spread across his face. "I knew it!" He must have been drunker than I thought.

"You knew?" I asked in disbelief.

"Of course I knew. Bella brings out the best in everyone! I figured that once you saw what Bella and I had, you'd want it for yourself. I hoped beyond anything that you would settle down and find someone you'd want to change for," he said, as if flaunting Bella had been the most ingenious plan he'd ever come up with.

I had to laugh, though. "Oh, little bro, you're plan worked all too well," I said, a bitter undertone to my voice that Edward didn't catch.

"Of course it did! Who is she?" he asked.

"Who is who?"

"The girl?"

"The girl who?"

"The girl who changed you!" he said, exasperated.

"I told you it was Bella."

He rolled his eyes. "I meant who is the girl that you want to have what Bella and I have with?" I would have laughed at his almost nonsensical question, except that I understood exactly what he was asking.

And I didn't know what to answer.

"We're having an honest moment here," Edward said seriously. "So you can't lie."

I wasn't going to lie. "It's Bella," I said slowly, knowing that out of every selfish act I had ever committed, this would easily be the worst.

"We've already been through this; I meant the girl that makes—"

"No, Edward," I said. He needed to understand this fully if my conscious was ever going to be clear. "Bella is the girl that I want what you have with."

He looked confused for a moment before he let an empty mask fall over his features.

"I love Bella," I admitted after several moments' silence.

Edward's face remained blank. "As a brother," he said slowly.

"No."

"Well you can't have her!" he yelled.

I snorted derisively. "You think I don't know that? You think that very fact hasn't defined my life since the moment I met her?"

"H-h-how could you?" he stuttered in anger. "You're supposed to be my brother!"

"It's not like I can help what I feel! I mean, can you blame me? You fell in love with her, too!"

"I fell in love with her first!"

"I don't deny that."

Edward glared at me, and as he did so something seemed to click in his head. "Did you— did you try something with her? Is that why she wouldn't come by the house for months?" he said in a determinedly calm tone.

"Yes."

"Did you… _touch_ her?"

"No! Of course not! Don't you know me at all?" I shouted in indignation.

"Yes, I know you, and that's the problem!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You treat women like animals! It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for me to assume that you felt like you had the right to touch a woman who didn't want it!"

"Who said Bella didn't want it?" I snapped and immediately regretted my words.

Edward clenched his fist as if to punch me but managed to refrain. I was impressed with his self-control. Even I would have punched me by now.

He stood like that for a long moment, his eyes closed tightly and his mouth forming words that were too quiet for me to hear. However, it didn't prevent me from reading his lips. "I am not like Dad. I am not like Dad. I am not like Dad," he was muttering to himself.

It was like a cold bucket of water had been dumped over my head as realization struck with a mighty force. I finally understood why Bella chose Edward.

He wasn't the wimpy kid I had always labeled him to be. He had more balls than I could ever hope to have. He'd grown up in a house where he was relentlessly teased and bullied by his prick of an older brother, and yet he always stood up for what he thought was right. He had never wavered, no matter how much pressure I put on him.

He was everything I wasn't. Not because he didn't struggle with the same temptations and conflicts as me, but because he chose to overcome them. Whereas I strove only to achieve the bare minimum human decency required.

I was undeniably the lesser man.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I shouldn't have said that," I told him quietly. "Bella never gave me the time of day. It's only ever been you, bro."

He opened his eyes, and they were black with anger. "You are not my brother." With that, he pushed past me and sprinted inside the house.

I stood outside in the cold air for a few more seconds, stunned by his last words. On one hand, it felt good to be on the receiving end of his wrath, almost a relief. I deserved his anger, and I craved it, in a way.

On the other hand, those five words — _you are not my brother_ — stung worse than even Bella's rejection. There was one person in my life who had always been a constant, who had always believed in me even at my worst, who loved and admired me despite my faults. And he had just disowned me.

I tried to numb myself to the pain of his parting words, but the ache was so much more persistent than I'd ever felt. With Bella, I had lost my heart. With Edward, I felt as if I'd lost everything else, leaving me a ragged imitation of the person I could have been if I was as brave and loyal and honest as he.

As I followed Edward inside the house, I didn't bother trying to find him upstairs — he wouldn't want to talk to me now anyway.

Instead, I went to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of rum from under the sink. If ever I needed this, it was tonight.

It all seemed so pointless now. For so long I had been staving off my addictions to better myself for a woman who already had the perfect man. I knew now I could never measure up to my brother.

Bella would never be a part of my life. Not in the way I wished her to be, and now that my brother hated me, not at all.

_What is the point in fighting anymore? _I thought as I filled up the glass.

**~.o.~**

When I awoke the next morning, I found Edward standing alone in the kitchen, staring at the empty bottles by the sink.

He made no outward recognition of my presence, even though it would have been impossible for him not to hear my entrance. We both just stood there for several minutes, not speaking.

"I'm sorry," I finally said to break the silence.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he responded without a trace of artifice in his voice. "I asked you a question, and you answered truthfully. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I'm the one who should be sorry."

I groaned in frustration. "Please don't, Edward," I said, running my fingers through my hair. "I can't take you being so understanding! I need you to be mad at me right now!"

He looked surprised to hear this. "It's like you said last night: I can't blame you for your feelings, and I certainly can't blame you for falling in love with someone like her. The only thing I should be angry about is that you made a move on her after she was already with me. Even then, it's clear you've been trying to atone for that in the past year. How can I be mad now when you're an entirely different person?"

"Clearly, I'm not a different person," I said bitterly, with a nod towards the bottles. "You can at least be mad at me for that."

"J, I've known about those bottles for the past couple of months," he told me with a sad smile. "You hid one under the kitchen sink where we keep all the cleaning supplies. It's not the cleverest of places to hide something when I do all the cleaning around here."

"Then, why didn't you throw them away?"

"This was your battle, not mine."

I stared hard at the empty bottles, knowing what my brother thought of me. "I'm sorry I failed," I said quietly.

"You didn't," Edward said, turning toward me. "You didn't drink them."

I was taken aback by the absolute certainty in his voice. "How do you know?"

"Because I trust you," he said, and I knew that he was talking about more than alcohol now. I suddenly felt much warmer than I had before. "And I know you wouldn't want to disappoint…" his voice trailed off, and his eyes drifted from mine. He took a deep breath and continued in a determined voice, "You wouldn't want to disappoint Bella."

"It wasn't about Bella," I said, and he looked at me once more. "I was standing at the sink filling up a glass and thinking how it would be so easy to just give in, but it wasn't Bella I was worried about disappointing. It was you."

Edward looked staggered by my confession.

"I couldn't even take a sip," I continued. "I poured it all down the drain. It was time anyway. I was ready to let go. And Edward, I poured _everything_ down the drain last night."

I knew that he understood what I meant; last night, as I emptied the last bottles that would ever tempt me, I also let go of Bella.

It had taken losing my brother to realize just how important he was to me. I had thought that choosing between him and Bella would be the most difficult decision I would ever make, but I found there was no competition. It should have been him from the very beginning. I was just too blinded by my vices to see what was right in front of me.

"I couldn't understand for the longest time," I spoke up, needing to get this one last confession off my chest, "why Bella had chosen you over me. I thought I was the best — better looking, more confident, the entire package. Don't get me wrong," I said to his hurt expression, "I always loved you, but I was an arrogant asshole. I couldn't see the truth beyond myself."

"What couldn't you see?" he asked.

I stared at the dining room table — the same place my father had sat me down so many years ago and shown me a deck of cards — before meeting my brother's eyes. "That you have always been the better man."

Edward didn't say anything as he absorbed my words, perhaps unaccustomed to receiving such praise.

"I'm, uh, quite fond of you, too," he said uneasily.

I cracked a smile. "So, should we hug or something?" I asked quite seriously, hoping to add to his discomfort. He had never been great with sentimental moments.

He didn't disappoint. "I suppose," he muttered, though it sounded like the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

I pulled him into a one-armed hug, and he clumsily patted me on the back a couple of times.

"I really hope you're better at hugging Bella than you are at hugging me," I teased as I released him.

"Well, yeah," he responded, a small blush rising on his cheeks. I didn't even want to know what that blush was all about.

"So you have any good hang-over remedies?" he asked quickly, apparently not enjoying the awkwardness of the moment as much as I was. "Bella will kill me if I show up at the rehearsal with a migraine."

I laughed, feeling freer than I ever had before. Even though jealousy still scratched at my heart, I knew that Bella had chosen the man she was meant to be with.

After all, I may have once been the King of Spades, but Edward had always been the Ace.

**~.o.~**

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read, alerted, recommended, favorited, and, especially, reviewed this little story. It meant a lot that you took the time to share your thoughts with me. I appreciate it more than words can say!

The wonderful bgwillis created a forum for this story. The link is on my profile under the information for The Ace of Spades. I've made a post in there about who J is to me. Let me know in a review who J is to you! Even if it's years into the future since I posted this story, I'd still love to know.

Thank you all again!


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